


Red Lace

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Truth or Dare, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets dared to wear red lace panties.  </p><p>  <i>The instant everyone leaves Derek has him pinned against the wall, hands down the back of Stiles’ pants and teeth biting sharply everywhere.</i></p><p>  <i>“I want to see,” Derek says plainly against Stiles lips.</i></p><p>  <i>Stiles doesn’t argue, hands sliding lower, clumsy fingertips pulling against the hidden red lace.</i></p><p>  <i>“No.  Everything.”  He steps backward, leaving Stiles with heavy glazed eyes and mouth shiny and open.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lydia looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, lip gloss shiny pink and lashes batting.

"Truth or dare, Stiles?"

Stiles glances up from where he’s sprawled on the carpet with loose limbs. His sock-less feet are playing with the fringed edges, his toes pausing their wiggling only as he props himself up on his elbows.

"Hey, no, haven’t we had enough ‘Embarrass Stiles Eternally’ fun for the evening? I’d like to be able to show my face in this town again. I think it’s Derek’s turn."

"Don’t be such a wuss, Stiles," Lydia says with a grin, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Derek shifts on the couch, grabbing at the remote and flipping the channel to something action-oriented and subtitled. He hasn’t answered a single question all night, except when Stiles had asked him if he wanted something from the fridge. His own fridge.

"Hey, don’t pick truth again," Scott pipes up from where his head is laying in Allison’s lap, hair being petted idly. "I’m so uninterested in hearing more about how many times you jerked off last week."

Stiles pulls a long face and scoots up until he’s seated, back brushing against the couch and his elbow bumping into something solid. Derek’s leg. Oh. He quickly slides sideways, giving the silent lump some space. Derek is always about the personal bubble.

”Glad to hear my friends are so bored with me,” Stiles grumbles.

Lydia fixes him with a ‘well come on' look and raises her eyebrow delicately.

"Fine, fine, give me dare." Stiles crosses his arms, secretly hoping Lydia will miraculously dare him to kiss her. Or anyone. Or Derek. Or. Wait, what?

Stiles shakes his head slightly and sees that he has zoned out yet again and everyone is looking at him expectantly. Scott has also shot up from off of Allison’s lap.

"Uh, could you, uh. Repeat that, please?" Stiles is sweating already, palms hot, and he doesn’t know why.

"Ladies underwear. For the rest on the night." Lydia’s smirk is wicked and Stiles sits up ramrod straight.

"That’s funny, Lydia. Ha ha, ok good one. What’s the real dare?"

The look she gives him is all business and Stiles pulls his legs upward, wrapping his hands around his ankles nervously. “Where would I even get ladies… underwear? That isn’t, uh… used?” Stiles is completely red in the face now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

Lydia grins and flounces upward, trotting over to her purse where there is a pink striped bag that Stiles didn’t notice before.

“Lucky for you I was shopping earlier today. Here. Brand new.” She pulls out a mess of crinkly tissue paper, sorting through to reveal two lacey scraps of fabric, one lavender and one candy apple red. Stiles feels his flush deepen tenfold as Lydia turns with a cocked hip. “Which one?”

"Dude, Stiles. You really gonna do this?" Scott whispers loudly.

Stiles opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck and over his freckles as he looks between Lydia’s expectant gaze and Allison’s bitten-back laugh.

Lydia is back in front of him before Stiles can formulate a coherent thought, manhandling him up from the floor and shoving a piece of lace in his hands. She presses against him with well-manicured nails until he nearly trips over his own feet on his way to the bathroom.

Stiles steadies himself with a hand on the back of the couch and catches Derek’s eyes. The light green is unreadable, Derek silent. But then there’s a tiny quirk of an eyebrow. Did Stiles just imagine that? He has no time to think as Lydia shoves him into the bathroom and slams the door with a chipper ’hurry it up.’ He looks down at his hands to see she’s given him the red pair, holding them up with horror to see the canned light of the bathroom shining through the lace. He thinks they might be called boy shorts or something, wracking his brain for that one evening he spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

“Shit,” he mumbles as he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall to his ankles. The noise of the others is muted through the thick door and he curses to himself as he looks at the ridiculous frilly lace staring at him. More banging on the door makes him jump and he shucks off his boxers and steps out of the jeans, kicking them over into the corner.

“I’m coming. Hold your horses, sheesh!” The lace is soft against his skin, smooth along his calves and thighs, the sensations almost alien. He tugs it up over his hips, feeling his cock pulled tightly against his stomach. Stiles looks at himself in the mirror, his plaid shirt hanging low over the red lace that didn’t quite cover everything, face ruddy and blotched, lips pink from where they were bitten nervously. He thinks about Lydia outside, waiting with her gleeful grin. He thinks about Derek, brooding and dark, sneaking glances from the corner of his eyes.

The banging on the door increases. 

Stiles pulls up his jeans, sliding up the zipper carefully, the lace feeling snug and weird against his skin.

Lydia yanks open the door and peeks inside, eyes alight. “You all done, Stiles?” 

Stiles narrows his eyes at her sweetness, crossing his arms in retaliation.

“Yes.”

“Proof?”

Stiles throws his boxers at her and she smirks, holding them to her chest and turning around to display them to the group and eliciting a variety of cheers and catcalls.

Stiles walks out of the bathroom, feeling every single set of eyes grazing over his body uncomfortably.

“Hey, I did it. Calm down.” He settles back on the floor, the lace pressing against the hardening skin of his cock, stretching tight against him. Scott gives Stiles a sympathetic look before the focus returns to Allison, giggling nervously about whatever she has just said that Stiles completely missed. The conversation buzzes but Stiles doesn’t listen; all he can think about is Derek brooding two feet away and how tight the fabric is stretched over his ass. He thinks about what it would feel like for strong fingers to wind into them and tug.

“Was it the red lace?” Derek asks hotly into Stiles’ ear, leaning down from his perch on the couch so no one else can hear. 

Stiles is so lost in thought that he jumps with his whole body before rearranging his limbs, keeping his gaze locked straight forward. Derek’s breath is warm along his neck, fingers close and twitching against the soft fabric of Stiles’ shirt collar. Stiles shudders and shifts his hips, feeling the lace constrict pleasantly.

“Yes. Red,” Stiles answers from the corner of his mouth, heart instantly hammering and eyes widening further as Derek rests one leg against Stiles’ forearm, letting it lie there possessively. 

Stiles is unusually silent and uncomfortably hard the entire evening, skin burning every time Derek brushes against him under innocent pretense. The wait for the evening to end is interminable and Stiles thinks he may die from lack of blood flow to any of his extremities.

The instant everyone leaves Derek has him pinned against the wall, hands down the back of Stiles’ pants and teeth biting sharply everywhere.

“I want to see,” Derek says plainly against Stiles lips.

Stiles doesn’t argue, hands sliding lower, clumsy fingertips pulling against the hidden red lace.

“No. Everything.” He steps backward, leaving Stiles with heavy glazed eyes and mouth shiny and open.

Stiles gets suddenly nervous under Derek’s measured look. He undoes the button and shoves down his jeans to his knees slowly, standing there like an idiot as Derek looks at him like he’s prey.

“I didn’t know you were, uh, into lace, Derek,” Stiles begins to babble to fill the silence, pulling down on the hem of his shirt. “Otherwise I would’ve…”

“Shut up, Stiles. And turn around.”

Stiles clamps his jaw shut and shuffles around, pants still caught on his ankles, heart wild in his chest. He is pressed against the wall with every inch of Derek hard against him. The lace is tight all over, Derek’s growls inhuman, and Stiles is wetting the red fabric and smearing the wall with his orgasm an embarrassingly short time later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. While Stiles wears red panties.

Derek is pressed up against him, breath hot on Stiles’ neck, fingers twisting in the red lace of the panties. They are soaked with come and uncomfortable on Stiles’ softening dick, and he shifts as it itches along his skin.

“Derek...” Stiles begins but trails off as Derek cants his hips and pushes his very hard cock forward. He’s still fully clothed, the jeans rough and stiff against Stiles’ flushed skin. Stiles is tingling everywhere, held up only by the press of Derek’s hips and the push of his cheek against Derek’s wall.

Derek works his teeth into the base of Stiles’ neck and the dull bite sends shivers down Stiles’ spine. He closes his eyes and lets his body simmer in that dull after-orgasm haze, hardly believing what was happening. Only an hour ago Lydia had dared him to wear ladies underwear and now here he was with his pants around his ankles and Derek pawing at him like he’s a piece of raw meat. Not like he is complaining.

Derek’s fingers slip underneath the hem of Stiles’ shirt, tugging it upward to reveal a winding line of moles that disappear down into the diagonal cut of the panties. Stiles shifts again, feeling awkward under Derek’s intense gaze.

“Do you…” Stiles swallows. “Do you like them?”

“What do you think?” is Derek’s smartass reply, and that’s enough to snap Stiles back into reality. He frowns slightly and turns his hips to slide out of reach of Derek’s thick fingers.

“Hey, I thought we were being nice here,” Stiles grumbles as he turns around fully. Derek’s fingers trail along Stiles’ stomach as he does, and they latch around the slim hips and pin him back against the wall.

“I am nice,” Derek says with a grin that is not nice at all. It shoots straight down into Stiles’ belly and makes his toes curl. There’s a darkness lurking around Derek that has nothing to do with his coarse scruff or the shadowed light of the loft. It’s something primitive and feral and has Stiles’ breath sticking in his throat as he inhales.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles taunts feebly, letting a shaky smile slide across his lips. “Want to show me?”

Derek lets his fingers skate down further, one trailing across the top of the panties and smearing through the come that is dripping downward in a cooling mess. “Didn’t I just make you come inside these frilly little panties, Stiles?”

Stiles closes his eyes and swallows, nods. His dick is twitching slightly, trying to leap up as Derek slides one fingernail over the center seam of the lace.

“Do you want more?” Derek’s voice is low, smooth, warm against Stiles’ cheek.

“Yes,” Stiles says, and he hears his own voice go a little breathless.

“Do you want me to fuck you in these tight little panties that are all wet with your come?”

Stiles brain stutters to a halt and he has to squeeze his eyes shut because he can’t possibly look at Derek right now. He’s never heard that voice say anything even remotely near that filthy, and the thought of Derek fucking him is making Stiles’ knees turn to jelly. He opens his eyes again and sees Derek smiling smugly. He’s so close that Stiles can see every hair in his scruffy beard, every long eyelash, every beautiful fleck in the light green eyes.

“Yes, please,” Stiles says, and Derek takes that as permission to lean forward and pull Stiles into a deep, lingering kiss. The first slide of their tongues is sweet and Derek tastes like the licorice he was eating earlier. Stiles tangles his hands in Derek’s soft shirt, twisting in the fabric, almost afraid to touch Derek’s skin. As if he would just turn disappear into a really good wet dream. But nope, Derek’s still there, hard and pressed into him, and the wetness against Stiles' hardening dick is so very real and sticky in the tight panties.

The speaking portion of the evening seems to be over and Derek hooks his fingers into the bottom of the lace, sliding his fingertips underneath and over the curve of Stiles’ ass. It makes Stiles push forward, their hips meeting, Derek shifting so he can fit one leg in between Stiles’. He pulls Stiles against him, grinding into his body and then walking them backwards until they are bumping into the bed and they are tumbling down. Stiles falls in a heap on top of Derek, his limbs an uncoordinated mess, his pants still caught around his ankles.

Before he has time to think, Derek's mouth is back on his. The movement of his fingers and lips are like everything else the wolf does: intense, serious and thoughtful. He wastes no time in rolling Stiles over and sliding his large hands everywhere, tracing along the pinked skin. Stiles squirms uncomfortably, the panties wet and tight against him, the sweep of Derek's hands just light enough to be ticklish. Stiles kicks with his feet to try and dislodge his jeans from where they are caught around his ankles, but pressure from Derek's knee causes him to stop his movement.

"You look good like this," Derek says, sounding like his breath got stuck in his vocal cords. His fingers are back on the edges of the panties and Stiles has barely a second to process anything before there's stubble rubbing against his ass and a hot tongue sliding along the lace's edge.

Derek's scruff draws red marks on Stiles' inner thighs, burning pleasantly. His tongue is heavy and broad, and it laps up against Stiles' skin and worms it's way beneath the lace. Derek's hands come down to rest on Stiles' ass and pull him apart slowly. There's silence and Stiles has the distinct impression that he's being examined. It makes his cheeks flame a hot red and he turns his face into the pillow so he doesn't have to face Derek and his stupidly attractive face.

"Can we hurry things along here?" Stiles mumbles into the sheets. Derek still hasn't moved and it's beginning to freak him out a little.

"You're awfully pushy. Don't know why I thought you'd be otherwise."

That little snippet makes Stiles flush even further. "Thought about it before, yeah?"

"Maybe once," Derek says before leaning down and pushing his tongue beneath the lace once more. He wiggles it over until it's sweeping right along Stiles' rim in lazy strokes, making him moan out loudly.

"Aw, fuck, yeah," Stiles bites out. "God that feels good. Yeah, that's it, a little harder. Come on, Der."

Derek pulls away and Stiles cranes his neck to shoot an irritated look down at him. He stops short and swallows at the stormy way Derek's brow has descended and how his beautiful eyes are narrowed.

"I think I'm going to need to do something about your mouth, Stiles. You're always running it, getting yourself into trouble. And that just won't do."

Derek's words arc through Stiles like a current and his feet start to shake with nervous excitement. "And what are you going to do about it?" Stiles asks, just to piss Derek off. And also because he wants to know. Like, a lot.

Derek pulls away and gives Stiles a firm spank that makes him yelp. "I bet you'll finally shut up if you have a cock down your throat."

And yep, that about does it. Goodbye, Stiles is dead. His mind reels as Derek manhandles him sideways and pulls his head so it’s poised above Derek's thighs. Derek draws down his zipper and pulls his dick out, giving it a few quick jerks. Stiles watches in fascination as the skin slides over the flared head, the tip a shiny white, precome squeezing out slowly. Derek eases forward and rubs the head along Stiles' lips, taking his time. It feels soft and sleek, and Stiles opens up willingly and flicks his tongue outward in little kitten licks. Stiles swell with pride when Derek groans throatily, but Derek grows impatient soon, grabbing Stiles by the ears and forcing his cock right between Stiles’ lips in one smooth motion.

The grip on Stiles' neck is tight and possessive, and Derek wastes no time in fucking upward into Stiles' eager mouth. Stiles struggles to curl his tongue upward on each thrust but the pace is quick and Derek is big and stretching his jaw with a dull burn that is just shy of uncomfortable.

"Jesus, you were made for this. You look so good with my cock in your mouth."

Stiles creases his brow, a little irritated that Derek wants to shut him up, but not really in a position to complain. Derek stills beneath him, pushing his cock in further so Stiles has to swallow reflexively because he's in so far.

"I better stop if I still want to fuck you. Next time I'll come all over your face." _Next time_. Stiles forgets to be irritated with Derek's possessive behavior in lieu of elation at the promise in those words. Derek pulls out and Stiles immediately hinges his jaw open and closed and wipes off the spit with the back of his hand.

"Big boy," he says with a smirk and Derek just grins and rolls Stiles over until he's on his back and his limbs are sprawled carelessly.

"I'm getting you a gag," Derek deadpans as he strips off the rest of his clothes and slicks up two fingers. Stiles watches the reveal of the absurdly well-muscled body with wide, honeyed eyes as he spreads his legs and waits. Derek is quick, leaning close and sliding in two fingers as soon as he can, obviously impatient. Stiles quiets as Derek works, the stretch tight and exciting, his cock leaking again. The tip is just over the edge of the lace and he looks down as Derek's forearm flexes with each quick thrust.

"Nnng," says Stiles when what he means is please continue. Now. Please. Please GOD. He bucks his hips and whines, and Derek seems to understand because he's suddenly hovering over Stiles and looking down with a fierce intensity that is almost like being under a magnifying glass.

"You ready?"

Stiles nods, ridiculously nervous. He’s had sex before. Like, a few times. But Derek, ugh. He’s hovering over Stiles looking beardy and unbelievably attractive, and it makes Stiles’ stomach burst into a flurry of butterflies. He’s sure Derek can hear his heart beating straight out of his chest, and he jumps about a mile when Derek presses their lips together in a sweet kiss.

He’s nudged up against Stiles, the red panties held bunched to the side with one hand while Derek props himself on his forearm so he can lie pressed on top of him heavily.

“Okay. Are you sure?”

Derek’s looking at him with such intensity and something bordering on concern that it makes Stiles’ insides clench.

“Yeah. I want you. Please.”

The crinkles around Derek’s eyes soften slightly at Stiles’ words, and the corner of his lips turns upward. Then he’s pushing forward with his hips and Stiles feels his body opening up very slowly. Even though Derek had spent a copious amount of time stretching him it still burns, still surprises in the way it pulls him apart. Stiles draws his legs backward, the feeling of Derek filling him up luscious and overwhelming and seemingly never ending. When he’s finally seated all the way in he pauses, waiting for Stiles to give the okay to keep going.

After a minute Stiles nods, and Derek starts to move slowly, taking his time, his eyes closed tight. Stiles takes the opportunity to look over the older man while he can, feeling uninhibited without Derek’s eyes peering so intently at him. It’s intimate, being so close to someone, watching them trust, bare everything. Derek’s features look more open than Stiles has ever seen them, and this time is suddenly so much more different than being pressed against Derek’s wall and jerked off quickly. Derek picks up his rhythm slowly, shifting onto his hands to gather more power, bottoming out each time and making Stiles groan in delight.

“You like that?” Derek asks with bright eyes. His face is flushed a deep pink and Stiles can see sweat beginning to gather in a silvery sheen along his smooth skin.

“Yeah. More, please.”

Derek smirks, his mood turning playful. “Remember what I said about a gag?”

“Oh, shut up. I said please. And you like my mouth.”

Derek pushes forward with enough force to make Stiles toss his head back and arch backward with an open mouth. “I like it with my cock in it,” Derek replies, and his voice has enough roughness in it that it makes Stiles’ dick jerk against his stomach. He thinks about the weight of Derek in his mouth, about doing that to him all the time, about Derek letting him do that to him all the time. He thinks about Derek sitting on the couch while he kneels in front of him, tonguing at his weeping dick. He thinks about lying on the bed while Derek straddles his face and just straight on fucks his mouth. The mental images combined with Derek’s punishing thrusts and devilish smile cause Stiles to begin to clench tightly. He can feel the climax edging up from deep inside him, the blood gathering and pulsing, his skin beginning to flash in a red-hot rash of heat.

“Derek,” Stiles grunts, voice wrecked, and Derek leans down and kisses him. It’s system overload, the friction on Stiles’ dick between their stomachs and the lace of the panties suddenly way too much. Stiles pulls back from Derek to push his head into the pillow as he feels the heat take over his body, his come spilling out between them and spattering onto Derek’s chest. Stiles digs his fingertips into Derek’s shoulders, making little half-moon marks as he lets Derek ride him hard through his orgasm. Each hot pulse is perfect and awesome and amazing and better than anything Stiles has ever felt times a million and one.

“God, that was hot,” Derek says as he kisses him and Stiles smiles up at him, grinning like an idiot. The panties are beyond wrecked and Derek pushes up so he’s on his knees, drawing Stiles upward so he’s resting along the tops of Derek’s thighs and is pulled up forcibly each time.

“Was it?” Stiles asks. He watches Derek from behind half-lidded eyes, his body shivering and over-sensitive and each thrust pushing him roughly against the sheets. “What part did you like? Did you like watching me soak these panties? Did you like watching me come just from riding your big dick? Did you like me saying your name when I came?”

“Yeah,” Derek says simply before his body stiffens into a tight arch. Stiles bites his lip to keep his grin from widening too much, but then tilts his head back as he feels Derek coming inside with hot pressure and bruising fingers on his hips. Derek looks even more beautiful as he lets the pleasure wash over his features, flicking across his cheeks and lips with little twitches before hanging his mouth open in a full-throated moan. It’s hot. Beyond hot. Sitting on the surface of the sun holding a just-cooked pizza that burns the roof of your mouth type of hot.

Stiles waits until Derek opens his eyes again before blurting out, “See? You do like my mouth.”

Derek laughs. Actually laughs, deep and easy. It makes their bodies shake together, and Stiles feels it all the way through to his chest. “I never said I didn’t.”

“Mmmm,” Stiles replies as Derek leans forward to catch his response with his lips. The kiss is soft and lingering, and Stiles lets it warm his skin. Derek licks into his mouth for a long time before Stiles finally squirms beneath him and pushes at the thick chest pressing him down into the bed.

“I’m getting a little squished here,” Stiles says against Derek’s lips, smiling.

Derek rolls his eyes and slides sideways, slipping out of Stiles as he does so. Stiles groans at the sudden feeling of emptiness, his body clenching around nothing in that odd, not entirely unpleasant way. He pushes the wrecked panties down over his hips, making a face and tossing them off the bed. Derek chuckles at his expression and Stiles turns to poke him in the chest with a fake look of ire.

“Next time you’re wearing the panties.”

“Nope,” Derek says, falling all the way over onto his back and tucking one hand up behind his head. His bicep looks huge and Stiles leans over to press a kiss against it causing Derek to shift with ticklishness. “I don’t have the hips for it,” he adds, voice a little lighter.

Stiles laughs, letting his head drop down and rest against Derek’s chest. They rest for a moment, listening to their breathing slow, the feeling of exhaustion creeping over their bodies as the lingering sweat cools.

One moment turns into many and Stiles looks up in surprise to see Derek’s face relaxed with sleep, his mouth parted slightly, his chest moving rhythmically beneath Stiles’ chin. Stiles smiles and tucks up against him, pulling the blanket up around their legs. He doesn’t think too much about how easy it feels to be in Derek’s arms, and how comfortable it is that Derek trusts him enough to drift off to sleep. Even if it was post-orgasmically induced.

Stiles has watched Derek sleep before. Loads of times. After too long nights of research, or fights when Derek’s dripping blood but wakes knit back together again. But this time it feels so different it’s like night and day. And Stiles likes it. He likes it a _lot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on the toombles. I'm there as [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com). <3 <3


End file.
